


Bridge Over Troubled Water

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Series: The 70s Series by Mona Ramsey [4]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: AU, Alternate Universes, Angst, Drama, M/M, Partner Betrayal, Series: The 70s Series, Song Lyrics, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-11-04
Updated: 1999-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-11 02:25:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/792982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair turns to Jim for help, but can he accept the kind of help he receives?<br/>This story is a sequel to Wasted Time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bridge Over Troubled Water

## Bridge Over Troubled Water

by Mona Ramsey

* * *

"Bridge Over Troubled Water"  
by MonaR.  
monaram@yahoo.com 

Jim walked into the dark shop, the smell of coffees and teas and incense instantly signalling the familiar homey surroundings to him. He glanced at the Mark, the owner of the place. Mark, in turn, nodded to a back booth, lost in darkness. 

Jim walked over to the booth. It was where it had all started for he and Blair, in a way - where they had spent the first magical hours of their relationship together, although neither of them knew it for what it was, at the time. They'd talked away hours here, drinking coffee, getting to know each other, feeling each other out, becoming friends, becoming more. 

He slid into the empty seat in the booth, and didn't speak for a moment. Blair was opposite him, staring at the table-top, not meeting his eyes. Mark brought Jim a coffee. 

"Thanks," Jim said to him. 

"You need anything else?" Mark eyed Blair worriedly. 

"No, Mark," Jim assured him. "This is good." 

Mark nodded, and walked away. 

There were few minutes of silence as Jim stirred unneeded sugar into his coffee and sipped it. 

"Thanks for coming." 

Blair's voice startled him. It was - he didn't know how to describe it, at first. Hollow. Empty. Scared. 

"I said I would." 

The curly head nodded, still not looking at him. When he spoke again, the eyes raised from the table, and Jim only barely stifled a gasp at what he saw before him. 

"I didn't believe you," Blair said, trying to muster a smile. He didn't quite make it. 

His eyes were dark, reddened and swollen, almost bruised-looking. His skin was paler than Jim thought possible, and he was even thinner than the last time he'd seen him. Jim almost asked him if he'd been in a fight, before he realized he knew the answer. "I always keep my word," he said. 

The pseudo-Blair smiled at him again, as bare and hollow a smile as he could manage. How he managed to keep looking without a flinch, Jim would never know. 

"I needed to see you." 

"So you said." Jim stirred his coffee again. "How are you?" 

This time Blair almost laughed. "Fine. Great. You?" 

"Not so great." He thought for a moment. "Pretty terrible, as a matter of fact." 

"Must be catching." 

"You must have called me for a reason," Jim started, hesitantly. He had no wish but to get as far away from this place - and this living ghost in front of him - as possible, as soon as possible. 

"I need - I need some help." The confession seemed painful for Blair to voice. 

"God, Blair, what's happened to you? What's going on?" 

"I don't know, Jim. I don't know." With that, Blair lost his tautly-held control entirely and broke down. He lay his head down on the table, trying to force the tears to come, but all that was released was a dull hacking sob. "I'm in trouble." 

Jim moved quickly beside him, pulling him into his arms. "It's okay, Blair. I'm here. I'll help you. I promise. You don't have to go through this alone." He rocked the young man gently in his arms. 

* * *

It was a few minutes before Blair was breathing easily enough to move out of the shop. Jim led him out to the truck, half-lifting him into the passenger side. Without question, he got in the other side and drove straight to his apartment. Blair didn't say a word, seeming dazed and only partially conscious. 

When they reached the apartment, Jim again had to half-carry him up the stairs. He turned on lights and went into the kitchen for water, his mind on making Blair something to eat, but when he returned and saw the kid teetering on the couch, he realized that what Blair needed more than anything else at the moment was probably a night's sleep. 

Jim picked him up, he realized, for the purely selfish reason that he wanted to feel Blair in his arms, even if it was also because he didn't think the kid could make it up the stairs to the bedroom. He nearly dropped him when he over-shifted his weight; far from the solidly-built, lean but muscular young man he had been scant months ago, Blair now felt like nothing but skin and bones. Jim carried him up to the bedroom and deposited him gently on the bed, and then started to undress him. His clothes were worn and far from clean, and he had to strip everything off of him. He'd burn it all later. 

He realized that his assessment of Blair's physical condition wasn't far off, when the kid lay there in front of him, naked. He'd dropped an alarming amount of weight, and was so thin it was almost painful to look at him. But that wasn't the worst discovery - beyond his emaciated condition, Jim had also uncovered needle marks, fresh and fading both, on both arms. It meant the drug use had gone beyond pills and pot to cocaine, or possibly, unbelievably, heroin. Shaking his head, he reached into a drawer for a clean t-shirt for the kid to wear. 

He came to a little when Jim was putting the shirt on him. "Jim?" His voice was slurred. 

"What, Blair?" 

"Am I dreaming?" 

Jim smiled, and brushed some hair out of Blair's eyes. Even his hair felt different - dry and lifeless, where before it was like silk. "No. You're in my apartment." /In my bed,/ he thought to himself, /where you belong./ 

Blair's eyes fluttered closed. "Watching you." 

"What?" 

"I thought I was watching you," Blair said, again. "Then I was in here." He turned over on his side, curled up tight, and fell asleep. 

* * *

when you're weary, feeling small  
when tears are in your eyes  
I will dry them all  
I'm your side  
oh, when times get rough  
and friends just can't be found  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down 

* * *

He spent the night watching the kid sleep - knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around a pillow, holding on for dear life. He didn't dream at all, or didn't seem to; Jim guessed that he was on the verge of crashing from the drugs, or drug withdrawal, anyway. 

All that kept repeating over and over in Jim's mind that night was /I did this to him. If it hadn't been for me, if I hadn't come on so strong, if I hadn't taken him to bed so soon, he wouldn't be here./ He tried to shake the feeling of responsibility off, but it wouldn't leave him; he remembered the fresh, brash young man and every whispered smile ate a little bit more at his conscience. /I might as well have given him the stuff myself./ 

Every fear, every hesitation on Blair's part came back to haunt him, from the first hints of flirtation over coffee, to the precious first kiss, and each seemed to glare at him with a sinister glow, tarnishing his memories until there was nothing but ugliness left in his mind. By the first cold hours of dawn, he was coming to regard himself as little more than a rapist, a pusher, a demon. And now, it was his responsibility to reclaim the young man who had been his body's sacrifice. 

"Jim?" 

He was at Blair's side in an instant. He was shivering even under the thick cover. Jim laid a hand on his fiery brow. "I'm here, Blair. I'll take care of you." 

So compelling was his guilt, that he didn't even stop to realize that it was the first morning that Blair had ever awakened in his bed. 

* * *

when you're down and out  
when you're on the street  
when evening falls so hard  
I will comfort you  
I'll take your part  
oh, when darkness comes  
and pain is all around  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will lay me down 

* * *

Jim called in sick that morning, and drew upon his store of personal time off to arrange for the next two weeks away from his job. He gave Simon the flimsiest of excuses, managing to convince him purely through the tone of his voice that he did need the time to himself. And thus began the routine: he cooked for Blair, helped him to bathe, watched him sleep, watched him do everything, twenty-four hours a day. He searched every piece of clothing, only finding the reserve of pills after the third day, when Blair's rest seemed a little too comforting, not at all like a true drug withdrawal. He let the kid scream and yell at him, not retaliating, just remaining calm and reasonable. He would bring Blair back to him, back to the world of the living, if he had to do it by sheer force of will alone. 

* * *

"I can't do it." Blair was rocking gently on the bed. He'd been there for five days. He was burrowed in the covers, Jim in his customary place in the corner, in an armchair, watching him. 

"You can," Jim said, moving closer to sit beside him on the bed. 

"I can't, Jim. I thought I could, but I can't. Please, help me." 

"I'm trying, Blair. I'm trying to help you. You have to let me." 

Blair made it up on to his knees, and grasped one of Jim's hands in his own. He turned pleading eyes on the older man. "Please, you have to get me something. Just for tonight. Just to make it better tonight. After tonight, I can stop. I know I can." He smiled, and snuggled closer to Jim's body, seeking warmth. "I can do anything, as long as you're with me." 

"I'll be with you, Blair," Jim said, his heart breaking. "As long as you need me - " 

"Then you'll get me something. Just for tonight." Blair kissed him, a long, soft kiss, and Jim felt himself respond. Blair smiled again. "You will, won't you? Say you will." 

"Blair - " 

"I'll do anything, Jim. Anything that you want." He reached a hand down and gave a squeeze to the erection that Jim hadn't even realized was his body's automatic response to having Blair in his arms. "See - I _knew_ you still wanted me. I knew you only sent me away because I was bad, but I'll be better, I promise I will. And I'll do anything for you, even," he hesitated, his eyes downcast, " - even what you wanted before, what I wouldn't let you do. I'll do it, Jim. You can be my first." 

Jim's breath was coming in ragged gasps, his body reaching out, yearning for the touch that had been his, once, and could be, once again. And it would be so easy, just to take Blair and make him truly his own, so that they could never belong to anyone else but to each other. It would only take one word, one promise, one small - 

Felony. 

He snatched his hand away and took a long, hard look at Blair's body. Although Blair's eyes were bright and his breath was coming in short spurts, Jim quickly discerned that the cause of his physical state was not sexual tension, but the drugs. Everything always came down to the drugs. He wasn't aroused, he was strung-out. 

"No." 

"What?" Blair's voice took on a desperate edge. "Jim - " 

"I can feel how _you_ want _me_ , Blair." Jim gave him a gentle squeeze in exactly the place where Blair had touched his own body. There was no response at all. 

"I just need something, and then it will be better. It's always better." 

"No. I will do anything for you, Blair - I will hold you, I will hold you down, I will listen to you scream, I will let you beat me - if you think it will help. But I will _not_ get you drugs. Not now, not ever. Not for any promise that you can give me. Not even if - " his voice broke, he had no control over it " - you gave me the only thing that I've ever wanted." 

"And what would that be?" The harsh, hollow quality had come back into Blair's voice. 

"Your heart," Jim whispered, and went down the stairs and onto the couch. He couldn't trust himself any more to be that close to the kid. He wanted to scream, and cry, and shake Blair, and ask him why he was doing this to himself, why he was doing this to _him_. So he sat on the couch and shook, for a good twenty minutes. 

When he went back up the stairs, Blair was asleep, back to him on the bed. Jim took his place on the chair in the corner, and watched. 

* * *

sail on, silver girl  
sail on by  
your time has come to shine  
all your dreams are on their way  
see how they shine  
oh, if you need a friend  
I'm sailing right behind  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind  
like a bridge over troubled water  
I will ease your mind 

* * *

Jim wasn't surprised when he awoke the next morning to find the bed empty. And he wasn't surprised when a quick survey of the apartment revealed nothing, nor when he discovered all of the cash missing from his wallet. The only thing that surprised him was that Blair hadn't awakened him when he left. 

The End  
MonaR.  
monaram@mailcity.com/monaram@iname.com 


End file.
